Mom Mistake #4,372

My to-do list had one important task today...make pumpkin bread for Meghan. My daughter is away at college and has yet to receive a care package from home. I sent her an envelope with some gift cards and Katherine Hepburn stamps but the side of the envelope was sliced open and all the contents stolen.

Today was my second attempt at sending my girl a little bit of home.

But, where was my salt?

I'd thrown all the ingredients into my mixer but couldn't find the salt.

Then I remembered. David! My son had killed a squirrel and was tanning the hide to send to a friend in Australia. (They don't have squirrels there.) I bet he took my salt.

I was furious.

Down into the backyard and into our basement I stomped. Mumbling aloud to myself. Steam pouring out of my ears. Squinting, my eyes adjusted to the dark room as I searched for this salted-carcass.

Sure enough, I found the squirrel buried under a pile of table salt, three salt containers empty on the ground.

When I got back upstairs I barked at my husband, "What is David's cell phone number?"

"What's wrong?" He asked.

"Your son used all of my salt on his squirrel hide. I went downstairs into his Frankenstein laboratory and discovered all of my salt is gone. I'm furious, Paul!"

I punched in the numbers Paul gave me and waited. Drats! I got his answering machine.

"David, this is your mother. I'm furious. I am trying to bake this morning and can't find the salt. So, I went into the basement and see that you've used all of my salt on your squirrel skin. Thanks a lot son. I can't begin to tell you how irritated I am right now. What a selfish thing to do. So, when you get out of school I want you to get your butt in your car and drive over to the grocery store and buy me some salt. Don't come home without it!"

Paul sat at his desk staring with a quizzical yet somewhat fearful look.

"What!?" I asked. "Do you think I am overreacting!?" I yelled, daring my husband to go a few rounds with me.

"Well, yes. It seems a bit over the top Joanne. It's just salt."

"You clearly don't understand. How would you like it if I used up all of the paper in your printer? How would you work then? Salt is something I need!"

Clearly my husband didn't understand. So, I made an about face and marched into the kitchen, yelling over my shoulder, "And, it isn't over the top Paul. This is righteous anger!"

Slamming the kitchen door, I walked heavy-footed back to my pumpkin bread...and discovered my salt.

It had been sitting on my counter all along.

Walking back into my husband's office, much more lady-like this time, I asked Paul for David's cell phone number again. Paul watched as I made the second phone call in as many minutes.

"Hello Son, it's your mother again. I'm sorry about the message I just left you. I found my salt. Boy, this is embarrassing, I shouldn't have gotten so upset. I hope you can forgive me...and don't worry about buying any at the store today. Well, uh, I'm really sorry David. I love you."


Paul tried not to laugh. "Righteous anger, huh?"

What's Your Pet Peeve?

Do you have any pet peeves? I have quite a few. Rachelle Gardner asked this same question a few days ago but with a twist. I thought I'd play along. Plus, you are such a neat group of gals, I just know you'll make me hoot n' holler.

Lets see, where to start? I'll just give you a few. Don't want you to know just how many I have.


* Women in grocery stores who park their carts in the middle of the aisle and walk away.

* People who make a mistake and can't admit it.

* Commercials and TV shows where children are smarter than their parents.

* Parents who feel compelled to be their kids social directors.

* People who call the police and want to remain anonymous.

* Adults who still blame their parents.

* Churches who feel compelled to fun-up their faith and dumb-down God's Word.

* Happy Holidays instead of Merry Christmas.

* Purses that eat pens and dryers that eat socks.

But, hands down, my biggest pet peeve of all time is when I finally sit down to eat after making plates for my own family - inevitably I am asked for a bite of my sandwich, a sip of my drink, or a taste of my chips.

I videotaped this phenomena and have posted it for you below for your viewing pleasure. This is my husband and I trying to eat fish. My children are the ones in white with the long beaks, er, uh...noses.

She is His.

My heart is breaking. Transition is taking place. Change is happening and I don't like it at all. I told the Lord she was His long ago, even reminded Him on occasion about our deal when she annoyed and irritated me. This day seemed so far off. Tucking her into bed, reading her stories, watching her dimples flash with joy over the simplest of things. A giggle. A word. A memory. My precious, precious child.

My oldest is moving out on her own. At almost eighteen years old, she is too much like her mother. Now in college, she wants to experience everything, taste and see it all. I have done my best to hold her back, and my not-so-best to hold her back.

She leaves happy, on a good note. Her father and I have helped her gather up belongings and will lovingly place her bed and dresser in her new home. But still the questions haunt me.

Have I done enough? Taught her enough? Encouraged her enough? Loved her enough?

I'm counting the days and hours before a mother's death sentence... letting go. I look into her beautiful blue eyes and see a desire to step out from under the confines of a home now keeping her, smothering her, with too many rules. She doesn't understand. She doesn't know what lies beyond the door. I want to keep her from it. But I can't.

"Every good mother, sooner or later, must understand she is denied ownership; she is merely granted stewardship." T.D.Jakes

Her mission soon begins. Mission: a group or persons sent to a foreign country to conduct negotiations and establish relations. She will be stepping out into the world where I pray she will make a difference for Him. "Like arrows in the hand of a warrior, so are the children of one's youth." Psalm 127:4 Like those arrows, she is meant to soar.

But, does she truly know what I know about her? She is gifted. Does she see in herself what I see in her - opportunities beyond her wildest dreams.

Only a few miles away in a simple cottage, enjoying the freedom she craves. Still close enough to stop by and raid the refrigerator, do her laundry, and remind me once again she is no longer mine.

She is His.


"...I have called you by your name; You are Mine." Isaiah 43:1

Flower seeds, a note, and my son.

My heart is grieved today. A thoughtful gift from my son has brought me a bit of pain. My eight-year-old received a packet of flower seeds at school recently. He carried them home for me in his backpack. My precious little boy thought long and hard about where he could put them. He wanted me to be surprised. He was so excited, he knew he had to place them somewhere I would find them almost immediately.

“Mom, have you been on your computer yet today?” he asked while getting ready for school. “No honey. I haven't.” My laptop was where I'd last left it, by the side of my bed. “Mom, I think you need to open it up.” Samuel smiled, barely able to contain himself.

Walking over, I opened my shiny red laptop to discover the treasure inside. Lying on my keyboard my son had placed his prized package of flower seeds. His gift to me.

I hugged him tight and told him how much I loved morning glories. I told him I couldn't wait to plant them, and hoped he'd help me. He just smiled and nodded enthusiastically. All the while my heart was hurting.

You see, I couldn't help but think of something I'd heard author Elizabeth George say many years ago. “Where would someone leave a note for you, if they wanted to make sure you would get it?” She went on to ask, “Would it be by your telephone, or your computer? How about on your TV? Or could it be possible they would leave your note on your Bible?”

I couldn't help but think of my own mother while growing up. As a child I knew exactly where I would have left my note to her...on her telephone. She was on her phone constantly. Making it very clear to my little girl heart that her friends came first. What I would have given to have her hang up the phone with her girlfriends and spend an afternoon talking with me.

I've been reminded today, I have only been given so much time. My family shouldn't take every waking moment of that time, but should know they are ranked first on my to-do list.

I want to discover my next sweet gift pinned gently to the heart of my children.

"Yet you do not know what your life will be like tomorrow. You are just a vapor that appears for a little while and then vanishes away." James 4:14

Who's Counting?

Only two days, sixteen hours, twenty four minutes and forty-eight seconds until the kids go back to school.

But who's counting?

Yes, that is an apple...and no, I don't know how long its been there!

How many times have I been manipulated by a toothless grin, or persuaded by a sticky hand held in mine, eyes pleading for a toy, or a game? How many times have I begged my husband to enlarge our Christmas or birthday budget so that I can spend just a little more money on the kids, you know, to buy them that something special that they want so much.

That they take care of...never.

How many times has Paul reminded me to clean up their play room, or as we call it, our bonus room before said birthday or Christmas holiday, so that I will have reality hit me like ice water in my face?

My kids don't take care of their toys! Why do I fall for their ploys ever single time?!?

I put together a montage of some favorite moments while cleaning up our bonus room this weekend. After some editing help from my teenagers, these are the parts that we have decided to allow for your viewing pleasure.

Make a Smilebox slideshow

Friends are Friends Forever, dah dah dah dah dah

You all know that song by Michael W. Smith right?

"Friends are friends forever, if the Lord's the Lord of them..."

I am beginning to write a new song in honor of the weekend my son had at my best friend Celia's house this weekend. I am going to title it:

"Friends are friends forever unless their son barfs in their car..."


My teenage son has been waiting for four years to fish with his Uncle Bob, this would be my best friend, Auntie Celia's hubby. The anticipated fishing weekend began on Friday evening with a stressed out call from Celia asking my husband if our darling son ever shut up. My dear childless friend and her husband have a vacation home that they come up to on weekends. It's a short hop and a skip down the road from our house to theirs.

Have I mentioned yet that my friend has never had kids?

Just this weekend while standing and smiling on her white carpet, she asked me why we don't bring up the family to their place more often.

Really?

She has already forgotten the first time we all came over and our youngest got his head stuck in their deck railing.

Auntie Celia (as my four children love to call her) has the same problem with my children as I do with little puppies. They are all just darlin until you have to take care of them.

So now you'll understand why I laughed out loud when I overheard my husband talking to Celia over the phone yesterday. The call went kinda like this...

Paul: Hi Celia.

Silence, long pause...

Paul: Really, oh boy, I'm so sorry.

Silence, longer pause.

Paul: Sure, you can just bring him home.

Silence, even longer pause.

Paul: Yes, there's an all service car wash right by our house.

(Paul is squinting his eyes, trying not to laugh while talking)

Paul: We will be home in a few, go ahead and just drop him off.




And just like a puppy, my teenage son barfed in their car.

Children for sale!

My four little chickadees are now home for the summer. I used to think that with my children out of diapers, not needing to be put down for naps, and with the added blessing of not worrying about leaving chokable items in their reach, my tough parenting days were behind me.



Not a chance.



I have included for your reading enjoyment, a quick dialogue between myself and my youngest two children. To set the scene you must know that I was in the middle of trying to prepare query letters for my trip to the She Speaks conference. Before I had come into the office the children had wanted nothing to do with me.

But the moment I am needing a teensy weensy bit of time to accomplish something....

Just know that they walked into the office every single time that they asked a new question!
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Samuel : Mom, can we go outside?



Me: Sure.



Grace: Mom, can we get our soccer uniforms on?



Me: Sure.



Grace: Mom, can we get our soccer uniforms on and then walk down to the end of the court with the ball?



Me: Sure.



Samuel: Mom, can I play video games?



Me: No.



Grace: Mom, can we have a snack?



Me: No, you can go outside and play.



Samuel: Can I go over to Eric's house to play?



Me: Are you going over to play video games?



Samuel: Yes.



Me: No.



Grace: Mom, can I watch TV?



Me: No.



Grace and Samuel: Can we make a sandwich for lunch?



Me: Sure.



Grace: Can we go swimming?



Me: Yes.



Samuel: Marcel Marceau walks in without saying a word, as our eyes meet, with a questioning look, and a tiny crooked grin, he begins silently motioning with his two thumbs as if he were playing a video game...



Me: NO VIDEO GAMES!





Anyone needing a mime for their next birthday party...let me know...

Any other chickens out there?

A chicken running around with it's head cut off...pretty graphic, awfully dramatic, but the analogy fits. I am a fat and fluffy, feathered chicken this time of year.

With the year wrapping up, we have award ceremonies, open houses, and graduations galore. I thought I would show you some of my past week in pictures.

Gracie was in a hoedown. My girlfriend Kim lent us the cowgirl outfit. Gracie looked so adorable. (Samuel had his own hoedown too, I just forgot my camera for that show.)

Open house for Samuel. He is standing by his lion project. Dad helped him with this one. Dad is not the greatest creative genius in our home, and mom was sleeping off a graveyard shift. Samuel was very proud of his lion made with a box and empty toilet paper rolls.

Our church's Spring progressive dinner was at our home. We hosted the main course leg of the evening. There were about twenty of us altogether. It was lots of fun.




This is at David's spelling bee. I arrived and found my seat, as my darling son was misspelling the word "tinsel". I was so proud.

Mom and Dad at Grace's open house. Third graders are just so darn cute, aren't they?

Meghan's choir award ceremony was LONG. Bless her heart, she got an award for great solo singing performance. That girl is talented I tell ya!




Gardening anyone? In between all of the above and much that I haven't included,(like selling our truck and searching the western hemisphere for a minivan), I just had to start my veggie garden.

I mean, what would I have done with a few extra hours of time to myself?

The secret language of seven year old boys...

Words have power. It doesn't take long for a woman to realize that. Words like fat, ugly or even nag, can change our moods rather quickly. But what words can a woman hear to make her move immediately into a Homeland Security red alert mode and take action? Are there words that can make us gals do things that we would never in a million years think of doing? Even being called fat won't make me get up and put on my exercise bra and walk on a treadmill.

To be quite honest, I can't think of any word that would motivate me to take action. Maybe because I am forty years old, there are no words that have the power to make me do things I don't want to do. Words like this don't exist for a forty year old mother of four, but...



these words do exist for seven year olds.



My son Samuel experienced the power of these words this week.

While on recess his first grade buddy Jordan said the words that moved my angelic son into action. "Samuel, I dare you..." You would have thought my son was a robot, he immediately engaged and headed out to accomplish what Jordan had dared him to do. "Samuel, I dare you to push Grace's face into the water fountain when she goes to take a drink." Like a mindless zombie, Samuel followed through with his order, mission accomplished.

When Samuel came home and walked through the front door, I knew immediately that he had gotten into trouble at school. His father and I happened to be sitting and talking when he walked in, poor kid never had a chance...

Samuel: His lip quivering before he even reached us...

Me: "You turned a card today in class didn't you?" (Us moms' always know, don't we?)

Samuel: Backpack and jacket still on, note from teacher in hand, he slowly nodded, "Yes."

Dad: "Why did you pull a card Samuel? What did you do?"

Samuel: Lip still quivering, trying hard not to cry, he immediately went guns blazing, into his defense. He spoke as fast as that little boy from the Christmas Story movie did, when he asks Santa for his Red Ryder BB gun. "Dad, Jordan dared me to push Grace's face into the water fountain while she was taking a drink. I didn't want to Dad, I really didn't, but he dared me Dad..."

Dad: Interrupting Samuel mid sentence, Paul asked him, "Samuel, what have I told you that a dare means?"

Samuel: Sighing, our youngest child looked down and recited back to his father the definition that he knew by heart, "You told me that a dare means, "Am I dumb enough to do it?" His head quickly jerked back up to begin his defense again, "But Dad, Jordan didn't just dare me, he fireball dared me, and you can't go back on a fireball dare!"

Dad: "Oh, I see son...it was a fireball dare..." He feigned understanding, then shot back, "Samuel, whether it's a dare, a double dog dare or a fireball dare, you don't do it." He went on, "Dares' have no power son, they are just words."

I almost interrupted, "Try telling that to the little girl with the wet face!"

I thought I'd better just keep my mouth shut this time and let Paul handle this one. My husband set down some harsh consequences for our seven year old. Our sweet little robot-zombie boy is without video games for ten days. On top of that, he had to write the little girl a letter of apology and give it to her when he went to school the next day. You would have thought his father had asked him to eat dirt, Samuel did not want to do this at all.


I guess we should have fireball dared him.

Warning:Irritated mom. Read at your own risk.

Today I am struggling with children.

The only thing that is giving me peace is knowing that some day both my husband and I will be guests in their home. We have created this fantasy evening that we speak of more and more. The anticipated joy of this time with our adult children is building. Would you like to know what we are looking so forward to?

My husband and I have decided that when our children grow up we are going to have one glorious visit to their homes for dinner. On our special visit we are going to have our list in hand. What list, you ask? The list of things that have so highly annoyed us through the years.

When we arrive at their home we will do the following:

* When we walk in their front door we will throw our coats, purses or jackets on the floor.

* Preferrably in an area where everyone can trip over them.

* We will continue to walk over these items throughout our visit, pretending like we don't see them.

* Whichever room in their house that we walk out of, we will make sure to leave all lights on, no matter what time of day.

* We will slam all doors or cabinets when closing.

* I will take sick pleasure in leaving only one square of toilet paper on their roll.

* We will leave their front door or sliding glass door open. This includes all screens...No matter what the weather is like outside.

* When we sit on their furniture we will flop back onto their couches like we are doing a back flip.

* Wherever we go in their house we will run.

* After dinner we will make sure to just stand up and walk away from our dishes.

* If we clean the kitchen after dinner we will make sure to throw all glassware and dishes into the cupboard like we are pitching for a major league baseball team.

* If we break something we will always answer with, "I don't know." "Not me." or "That wasn't my fault."

* Just for fun we will take all towels in their bathroom and wad them into wet balls on the floor.

* If we help with anything, we will leave out whatever we have used on the kitchen counter.

* If we happen to take a drive with our adult children, we will make sure to stuff french fries in between all of the seats and throw crumbled wrappers on their car floor.

* When we get out of their car and garbage falls outside we will never throw the garbage away. We will only pick up what has fallen out of the car and throw it back inside, closing the vehicle door really fast.

* No matter what the topic of conversation we will always ask them, "Why?"

* No matter how much fun we have with them during our visit, we will ask immediately what other fun things they have planned for us.



Oh the joys of one day being able to visit their homes!

Spring Cleaning - Yard Style

We spent all day Saturday working in the yard. The kids pitched in and got a good workout too.

My girls are the ones who do all the necessary weeding in our yards. By some cruel twist of fate, all of the men in our family have allergies. Here are the girls in our front yard. Meg had her music on, so the girls were singing. (I weed-wacked and pushed our lawnmower around.)


The men were on the side yard. They were making me pretty happy over there putting in railroad tie steps. We have lived in our home for over seven years now, in that time I have wanted some steps down the slope that goes by my raised garden beds to our backyard. When company comes over in the summer and joins us in our backyard, this is how they usually come down. Watching people surf the dirt hill, slipping and sliding along the way, is not fun to watch. Paul as you can see is pointing. He makes a great dictator, uh, I mean supervisor. David worked so hard for his mom, bless his heart.


An afternoon of working very hard made the kids hot, tired and sweaty. They thought a dip in the icy cold pool was a great idea. They asked if they could jump in fully clothed in their dirty duds. We said, "Sure, why not? Go for it!" Their dad and I counted "One, Two, THREE!" about six times before they all jumped in together. I wish you could have heard them yelping from the cold when they came up for air. We just cracked up.



Ok, just one more picture for mom guys, then you can get your towels!

Resurrection Eggs

The project in my Sunday school class today was to make resurrection eggs. For those of you who are not familiar, resurrection eggs are plastic eggs that each hold a small symbol of the story of Easter. We bought ours through "Focus on the Family" a few years back.


The kids took something from each of the bowls below and placed them in each egg.


Here is what we had for each egg...

1) Three silver coins (nickels) to represent the betrayal of Jesus by Judas.

2) A piece of rope (twine) to represent the arrest of Jesus.

3) A feather to represent Peter's denial of Christ three times.

4) Leather whip to represent the beating of Jesus.

5) A thorn (taken from my rose bush) to represent the crown of thorns Jesus wore.

6) Three nails to represent the nails in His hands and feet.

7) A tiny spear (food skewer dipped in red food coloring) to represent the soldier who put the spear in Jesus' side.

8) Torn purple satin material to represent the veil of the temple torn in half.

9) Strip of muslin to represent Jesus' burial clothes.

10) Cinnamon to represent the women who prepared Jesus' body with spices.

11) A rock to represent the rock that sealed His tomb.

12) The last egg you leave empty to represent the empty tomb!





Inside each egg carton we taped the printed out scripture references for each egg. This way the chidlren could find it in their Bibles when sharing the story with their families.

My prayer is that this will start a tradition in their own families or at least place a special memory in their hearts of just how special Jesus really is.

My precious little pack rat.

I was recently at 'A Mom's Life' and Beth the hostess of that blog was asking her readers for some advice about children and chores. I left a lengthy post giving wonderful advice, expounding on my soap box of perfect mothering do's and don'ts, sharing things that have worked for us in our home.

With that comment forever stamped in the blogosphere, I remembered a picture I had taken of my daughter's mess in her bedroom.

Open mouth, insert foot.

Always wanting to be transparent, I have to share a bit of a reality check.

My daughter Grace recently had a sleepover with her adorable friend Abigail. Before they could get all tucked into her bed like a bug in a rug....

........this was just some of the contraband that I removed from her top bunk first.




It never ends Beth...it never ends!

Last Minute...YOU BETCHA!

Being a self proclaimed 'Last-Minute-Lil' has been a genetic trait of mine for as long as I can remember. I grew up with a sweet mother who rushed around completing any task only moments and sometimes even seconds before her deadlines.

Her legacy continues...

Our 3rd grader had a lovely school book report due today. We were given a full month to complete this task. Did we take our time working on this project when we could have done so in a peaceful and stress-free way?

Of course not.

That would have taken all the fun out of it.

We decided to do it yesterday afternoon...the day before it was due.

And to add I believe, a bit of sinister joy on the teachers part, we were asked to make this book report on a cereal box.




My cereal box job behind me, breathing a huge sigh of relief, it was almost time for our children to head to bed. Since it was Sunday night, I called to my youngest to bring me his Friday folder to peruse.

What, you actually look over your children's Friday work on Friday's?

Not us 'Last-Minute-Lil's'.

If we were to do that, then we wouldn't have the joy of being mind-blowingly surprised from time to time.

Like I was last night.

With only ten minutes before the kids bedtime I discovered that my darling youngest was no less than 'Star of the Week' this week. What does that mean, some of you may ask? It meant that I was now working with my son on his own artistic adaptation of himself.

...and this son is NOT artistic.

Out came the pens and paints..yet again.



Ahhhh the joys of last minute mothering!

Under the Weather...

Our family has been 'Blessed' with good health so far this year. Forty eight hours of a runny nose is all we have had to endure and that was from only one child this winter. Our close to perfect record changed this morning. Meghan had a stuffy head and sore throat, David had a sore throat and Grace said she felt fine but admitted waking up last night with a sore throat.

Sound the alarm! Mom is now in sick-mode!!! Out came the Airborne, Vitamin C tablets dropped fom the sky into their little hands. Zicam flew at the kids from all directions and all sugar is now on a lockdown!

Only Meghan really was sick enough to stay home. The others I kept home just to make sure that this flu/cold or whatever they have will not get any worse. This mom is armed and ready. My family is not going down without a fight from me.

I have included a few pictures to show you what the kids were doing this morning in my multiple roomed sick-ward.


Meghan has never once minded hanging out to read in her bedroom.


Gracie is trying to write in cursive while cuddled up in mom's bed alongside 'Princess Violet Rose', her cat.

David is finding anything he can in the house to eat. Hmmmm...I don't think he is really that sick...do you?

It is never the one that you think...

Our youngest son came home in tears today. His dad and I were both in the office, we could hear him crying as he walked down the hall to give us his bad news. He had pulled a ‘blue’ card today. For those of you who may be out of the loop when it comes to 1st grade discipline in school, a card is something that the teacher pulls to make a point that the child has misbehaved. Pulling a card usually comes in the form of progression in the way of a primary color scheme. Yellow is a warning, blue is a mandatory 5 minutes in from recess and red is a call home. Our son is an overachiever, he went from 0-100 in about 10 seconds flat. Samuel never got a yellow card, he went right to blue, not even a warning. His crime?

He wouldn’t finish his coloring project.

With that said, our oldest son David, we almost expected these types of schoolwork misdemeanors from. David made it clear that school was not his cup of tea and every teacher in every conference we ever had, confirmed the same. He was more than smart enough to do the work, but just didn’t ever get around to fitting it into his schedule.

Just when I start to think that I have bragging rights as a mom, just when I think I have some wisdom to share with the free world, in walks our youngest. The sweet and quiet one that is a clone of my overly-intelligent husband, the one who should be gleaning from our parenting expertise, walks in to share that he is being incarcerated in class tomorrow for the first five minutes of recess.

It is never the one that you think…

WORDLESS WEDNESDAY

Children to the right of me-Children to the left of me...

When my children started to wear on my last nerve, at around 8:15am this morning. (Hey, cut me some mom-slack, I am far from perfect). I told them they had to spend the day outside. Our weather isn't too bad yet, it is around 47 degrees and the 'big' storm had not arrived. I knew that I had a small window of 'outside' opportunity before we are cooped up for days inside our home. Pulling them away from their TV show and my teenager from downloading music onto her ipod...you would have thought that I had asked the kids to go build a small city or to find a cure for some terminal illness. Their groans and moans pained even me. They were back in the house less than twenty minutes later telling me they were bored. When our children complain to us that they are bored, we reply by telling them, "You are bored because you are boring."

Our children have a beautiful home, a basketball hoop, a jungle gym and fort, their own bonus room and a pool in the summer. They don't get much compassion from their dad and I.

It got me to thinking about how little my children do spend outside. Compared to their generation, they are outside quite a bit. Compared to my generation, not much at all. Later in the day, I ended up driving my youngest three to the school playground where they could ride their bicycles and scooters, and climb the jungle gym. Their groans and moans gone, they laughed and chased each other on the blacktop. My daughter Grace came over to where I was sitting and reading. I could see her walking over to me and I tried to envision an invisible force field that would redirect her to where the other children were all playing. With her soccer ball in hand she asked, "Mom, do you want to play soccer with me?" I had to hide the hidden moan I felt rising in my own throat, "Sure honey." I smiled, as I put down my book and tried to grab the ball out of her hands.

Fake it till you make it.

I told you...I am far from perfect.


**The picture above is of my children reading my blog post a few weeks ago for Meghan's birthday. This is pretty much what my mornings look like when I want a moment to myself.**

A Glimpse of Christmas Past...